Slipped Discs

Mittens On Strings - Let’s Go To Baba’s

A veritable garden of quirky curiosities, existential wit and literate kismet, “Baba’s,” boasts both gray, no wave guitar psychedelia harvesting lofty, alt-Goth waltzes and banjo, cello and mandolin spiking pastoral, prog-rock rodeos. MoS’s smirking, earnest grandeur merges into democratic genre-jumping offering sentimental laments and mocking double-talk, deadpan stanzas and granola-soaked anecdotes.

Midas Fall - Eleven. Return and revert

Darting apparitions coo fluent, fleeting meanings as, “Eleven,” traverses immense emptiness where textures stretch, catching regrets swooping through crashing percussion, lofty intergalactic guitar and tender piano soliloquies. Banshee ballads anchor tumultuous emotions as MF’s ferocious vocals wrangle phantom fandangos, surfing past oceanic auras, shivering within shadowy despair, impulsive thoughts and half-abandoned memories.

Monster Movie - Everyone Is A Ghost

Quiet frustrations swarm under throbbing waves of synths, patient complacency dissolves into the solemn sympathy of softly strummed guitars and mournful harmonies. MM’s polished pessimism shines beneath a seething tide of steady beats, minor chords and sleepy consolations while “Everyone,” methodically plots sublime, melancholy pop that floats hopefully, reveling in selfless fellowship.

Minus the Bear - Omni

Vivid slivers of slithering ribbons tie smooth syncopated grooves into brisk, crisp knots as shimmering electronic funk carve tightly wrought jazz-rock into super-cool, cross-pollinating gravy. “Omni,” spins and sparks, igniting space-age playfulness as MTB prances over edgy pinnacles, casting magic spells against dance-floor lust and prog-rock cockiness. The Bear play Chicago’s Lollapalooza early August.

Mathew Sawyer and the Ghosts - How Snakes Eat

Slightly skewed views delivered in gentlemanly eloquence, “Snakes,” charms sweet hayseed hallucinations from classically daft English pandemonium. Civilized seaside psychedelia, Sawyer and friends conjure toddling obsolescence and creaky vaudeville civility beneath surreal jaunts and subtly pastoral poppycock, slyly embellishing miniature moon-struck show tunes, art-house ironies and breezy, parlor mysteries.

Miniature Tigers - Fortress

Tropical-flavored irony bounces from lazy, calypso disco to coy, calliope pop; consecrating lackadaisical lunacy and lovelorn catastrophes into flirty circuses. “Fortress,” cleverly calculates adolescent angst and college-laundered quandaries for cosmic, mosh-pit harmony. Unraveling romantic semantics behind cryptic glimpses and elliptical riddles, MT’s zippy, tipsy philistines serve hyperactive imaginations cock-eyed operas ala comic book sonatas.

Meridene - Something like Blood

Wise asides and quick quips happily carry percolating electric piano, bipolar guitar, and rock-solid bass and drums; like shock absorbers on a bumpy road, “Something,” comforts contemplative cravings in cryptic hipster’s whisperings told in simmering conviction. Convincingly syncing thoughtful despondency in a stew of swinging rhythms, Eau Claire’s Meridene attain rare pop honesty, accurately capturing passing moods through descriptive prescriptions.

Mini-Mansions - Mini-Mansions

Ghoulish pursuits from pop-rock hooligans, Mini-Mansion’s crazed clichés cleave dream-speak tweets into a scrumptious rush. Cryptic gibberish and lecherous messages canned into pounding, pouncing demonic delights, a bushwhacked grab-bag evoking Spoon, Supergrass, even Billy Joel, this self-titled debut scoops goofy gremlins into spirited shenanigans, walking bass pirouettes into spiraling guitars and barrelhouse piano for campy vamps and predatory rock-star glory. Mini-Mansions appear Dec 8th at Milwaukee’s Mad Planet and Dec 9th at Madison’s Project Lodge

Manchester Orchestra - Simple Math

Weary indie-rock antiheroes compose symphonic underdog uprisings, energized by scorching discourse brimming in frank angst and suburban ennui. Vague prey hunted in restless, impetuous reconnaissance, “Math,” traps sacred aching in sinister hook-filled insurrections and breathless mosh-pit proclamations. Balancing searching grandeur against seething street-wise insecurity, MO’s epic introspection sweeps over tender defenses, bolstered by defiant alliance, minor-key reprieves and cathartic martyrdom.

Cass McCombs - Humor Risk

Articulating repressed obsessions and quiet rivalry through cool rebukes and questioning hesitations, “Humor,” exudes sensitive everyman rock wrapping under-dressed quests and bare-knuckled troubles in swinging sixties mixes and loner-poet parcels. A slightly lighter companion to last April’s gloom-infused, “Wit’s End,” McCombs’ prolific mischief crushes heartfelt grit into folk-rock ruminations. Melancholy’s soft-spoken apostle, Cass plays Madison’s High Noon Saloon January 30th

The Magnetic Fields - Love at the Bottom of the Sea

Understated plays of phonetic calisthenics elicit spooky amusements dipped in dry irony and tattered flattery.  ‘Kinetic suggestions lighting disembodied follies, “Love,” embraces fun-factory retaliations manufacturing impeccable satanic semantics around intrepid mechanical insanity./  Pioneering professors expert at blithe swipes for gala salads tossing melodically-rich tidbits into three minutes or less synth-pop dollops, TMF play Chicago’s Vic Theater March 26th and 27th.

Margot and the Nuclear So and So's - Rot Gut Domestic

Vagabond sonnets cooked in flagrant disdain, bruised blues and reflective messages rock out over weak-kneed pleads as Margot’s outraged sages and micro-managed philandering pine, resign and chomp at the bit. Dungeon hungers rise and plunder while passionate crashes turn personal crisis into frontline reporting. “Rot,” stalks, hawks and unlocks a seething cauldron fostering spiky rock chops among staggered social lacerations,

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